


De Fiets

by Lono



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bicycles, Daisy Bell, F/M, The Netherlands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lono/pseuds/Lono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cold weather, assassins, and bicycles join forces in a tale of romance, intrigue, and Dutch geography.</p>
            </blockquote>





	De Fiets

An unseasonably warm September had given way an only slightly cooler October. Though London had had its share of rainy days that autumn, for the most part the sun still shone warmly through the orange and red leaves on the trees dotting the city streets. In exchange for that mild warmth in the day, however, were significantly colder nights.

Molly Hooper huddled under her duvet, caught between sleep and wakefulness, trying to decide if the chill in her room would win over her desire to sleep more. She regretted wearing summery sleep shorts and a t-shirt to bed, but Molly knew how her body worked. If she emerged from her bed and made the chilly trek to her chest of drawers (from which she would swear to anyone that she could hear a pair of leggings and wool socks calling her name), any chance of returning to sleep would be shot. It was five in the morning, and she had another blessed hour-and-a-half to doze, if she could just ignore the ten cubes of ice that inhabited the spots previously occupied by her toes.

Normally, Molly’s useless, fat cat, Toby, slept on her bed.  Tonight, however, he had thumped off somewhere after she disturbed his beauty rest trying to roll herself up, burrito-style, in her comforter. She was a bit affronted at his lack of loyalty. He could usually be counted on to curl up warmly along her back and she, in turn, promised to try not to roll on top of him. Apparently these expectations meant very little to the cat.

It hurt, after all she’d done for him. Stupid feline.

Just as she finally decided she couldn’t handle the chill any longer, her bedroom door creaked as it was pushed further open. Molly smirked to herself. Toby had come back. He always came back, fair weather friend that he was.  Or in this case, cold weather friend.

Whatever the case, he was fluffy and warm and she was grateful for any kitty cuddles she could get.

The weight that depressed the side of mattress behind her was distinctly heavier than that of a one-stone cat.  Before she could even react, a solid chest pressed itself against Molly’s back, and a pair of arms came around her (with impressive speed, considering one of those arms had to wriggle under the dip of her waist, as she was lying on her side). Those arms tightened around her, pulling her more securely against a long body that smelled of fresh, crisp air and more faintly of cigarette smoke.

Yes, this was startling, but what made Molly yelp loudly was the frigidly cold nose that pressed itself without ceremony against the nape of her neck.

The cold hands that were warming themselves on her stomach were no picnic, either, but it was the nose that chilled Molly to the bone.

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t try anything else. This is, effective now and for the rest of the morning, a Sleep-Only Zone. And you’ll move your nose,” Molly intoned in what she hoped was her most threatening _“Or Else”_ voice.

Her spoon heaved a sigh, and then said in a tired voice, “You’re wide awake, Molly. It’s not like I’m keeping you from something important.” 

On this pronouncement, the nose continued its icy nuzzling.

“Sherlock, I have to be up soon. I’m tired, cold, and was hoping I could manage to get some more rest before my alarm goes off. Everything you are doing is not conducive to a peaceful sleep. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be lurking around some canal in Holland right now, tracking a master villain?”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve missed me in _three days_ that I’ve been gone. Maybe I should just go somewhere else permanently. I hear there’s a lovely hostel up in Swiss Cottage that welcomes long-term residents.”

Now he was just being peevish, and Molly might have been concerned that Sherlock’s threat to leave was in earnest if:

  1. She weren’t so very tired—really, she was starting to feel like she wouldn’t die of hypothermia, and could finally sleep again.



And

      2. He weren’t still snuggled up to her, trailing his fingers in circles on her belly while keeping his face pressed against her neck.  He certainly wasn’t scrambling to leave the bed any time soon.

So, no, Molly didn’t worry herself too much. Instead, she put her own hands atop his, stroking the backs of his fingers soothingly.

 “Of course I missed you, and I worried for you. How _was_ Delft? You weren’t in any danger, were you?”

At her words, he seemed to forgive her easily enough, so she couldn’t resist adding, “I hear the Dutch are very deadly in high-speed bicycle chases.”

Sherlock huffed indignantly.

 “I’ll have you know, Molly, 69% of all inner-city travel in the Netherlands is bicycle-driven. It’d be very tricky, very tricky indeed, to _avoid_ a bicyclist if he had a mind to pursue you if you, yourself, were on foot.”

While she might normally chalk this up to Sherlock’s normal spouting of statistics to shut down a naysayer, there was something in his tone that gave her pause.

“Sherlock, are you saying that you _did_ get in a high-speed bicycle chase with some wayward assassin while you were in the Netherlands?”

Sherlock busied himself pressing his cold nose against her skin and sniffing her, “New shampoo, Molly? It has too many sulfates and artificial fragrances. Bad for hair health. Switch back.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, then,” Molly replied, not to be swayed. “Where did you _get_ a bike for this alleged bike chase?”

Even in the quiet of her room, Molly still struggled to hear his muttered reply.

“I rented one.”

“Just to be clear, did you throw some money at a bike rental agent when you realized a baddie was in pursuit of you, or did you already have one on hand?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to hire a cab to sit idle by the terras where I was stationed. I wanted to blend in with the natives and I didn’t know how long I’d be observing the assassin- -a man called Van der Meer, by the way- -and I _certainly_ didn’t think he’d notice he had a tail and give chase.“

The danger to him was likely great. Really, she wasn’t trying to diminish that. But try as she did, Molly just couldn’t block the image of Sherlock pedaling leisurely along, admiring the sights, scarf tail floating in the breeze behind him.  Nor could she squelch the guffaw that escaped as she pictured it.

“Molly, are you laughing at the fact that I had to run for my life from a gun-wielding assassin?”

“No, not at all. I’m just wondering... did your bicycle have a basket and a bell on it?”

“If you can’t be serious, I’m going to go sleep on the couch. My life was in danger, Molly. Real danger. Van der Meer _almost_ caught me.If I hadn’t thought quickly, the whole debacle would have ended very differently.”

 Sherlock began to extricate his arms from around Molly, and would have left the bed, if Molly hadn’t rolled around quickly so that she was facing him.

“Stop, stop,” she said, between giggles. “I’m just teasing. You know that there isn’t much to laugh about right now. I wasn’t trying to make light of the situation. Or, if I was, it was just because I’m so glad and relieved you’re back home.”

Cradling his shadowed face in her hands, Molly stretched forward and pressed a warm kiss to Sherlock’s lips.

Before he could get too wrapped up in the romantic interlude, she asked, “What happened to Van der Meer?”

“He’s sleeping with the fishes, as I believe every clichéd mobster ever has said.”

“You—you killed him?” Molly felt a flash of alarm for the first time.

“No, I mean I tripped him as he caught up to me on a bridge. Shoved him into the canal below. I didn’t stick around to make sure he surfaced, but I find it unlikely that the late, unlamented Moriarty would recruit a henchman who needed inflatable armbands for his wetwork.”

“Wetwork…. Sherlock, you just made a pun!”

“I am glad that’s what you chose to focus on.  Anyway, after the chase, it seemed prudent to approach the Van der Meer problem from a different angle, I decided it was time for me to come home. I don’t think he’s much of a threat, and he didn’t recognize me, so I’ll leave him be for now.”

“Well, I’m glad you are safe.  And you are so close to finishing this, so Van der Meer can just be one of those final, minor details.  I’ll help you in whatever way I can.”

Sherlock seemed to weigh her offer before saying, “Then we’d better brush up on your bike riding skills. Maybe next weekend we can rent one of those tandem bicycles and pedal around Hyde Park.”

After a stunned silence, she responded, “Um, really?”

Molly was impressed that, even in the dimness of the room, she could still see Sherlock’s eyes rolling. “No, not really. What do you take me for?”

Thrilled that he was teasing with her now, and once she finished laughing, Molly nuzzled her cheek against his and quietly sang, “Sherlock, Sherlock, give me your answer, do. I’m half crazy, all for the love of you….”

“Molly.”

“Yes?”

“Go to sleep now.”

“Spoilsport.”

But Molly did settle in, knowing she now had an even shorter amount of sleep time ahead of her. Tucking her head under Sherlock’s chin, she felt his arms come back around her. She was quite warm now, but still had post-traumatic flashbacks to that cold nose of Sherlock’s.

So, in retaliation, she flattened her still-icy toes against Sherlock’s calves.  This time, it was Sherlock who let out a startled yip.

Yes, she was warming up quite nicely.

**Author's Note:**

> The song Molly sings at the end is a slightly bastardized version of "Daisy Bell". I couldn't resist...


End file.
